


Melted

by rendawnie



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Feelings, Friendship, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Party, Piercings, Porn with Feelings, Reunions, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, Tongue Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23773681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rendawnie/pseuds/rendawnie
Summary: Yunho frowns towards the floor. He can feel the tips of his ears starting to burn, like they always do when he’s embarrassed or anxious. “What if he doesn’t even want to speak to me ever again?” he murmurs.“Why don’t you go to the third bedroom on the left and find out, big boy?” Wooyoung sounds so, so gleeful. Yunho is very, very unprepared.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong
Comments: 20
Kudos: 268





	Melted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anon451](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon451/gifts).



“I do _not_ want to be here,” Yunho mutters, pushing his free hand into his pocket and flattening his body against the wall. Trying to shrink in on himself as much as he can. There’s a warm cup of beer in his other hand that’s been all but full since it was shoved at him thirty minutes ago. He glances down at the amber liquid, grimacing. God, he hates beer.

Wooyoung snickers, scanning the room. He’s probably looking for San, Yunho knows, and when he finds him he’ll disappear for the rest of the night, leaving Yunho alone to deal with this stupid party. “Yes, you do,” Wooyoung replies, eyefucking a random guy passing them by, just because he can. Sometimes Yunho worries that if he rolls his eyes any harder at his friend, one day they’ll just eject themselves from his skull, and Wooyoung can’t afford to pay for reconstructive ocular surgery.

He sighs. “Why. Give me three reasons why,” he says, even though he doesn’t really want any reasons, besides maybe a reason to leave. This is the fourth frat party Wooyoung’s dragged him to in a week, and Yunho thinks he might still be hungover from the first one.

Lifting himself off the wall next to Yunho, Wooyoung circles around and invades his space ever so slightly. Not enough to be inappropriate. Just enough for Yunho to know he’s probably already well on his way to drunk. However, Wooyoung holds his alcohol much better than Yunho could ever hope to, so it’s fine. Probably. Mostly. Right now, for example, he’s leveling an amazingly steady gaze right at Yunho, preparing to grandstand for his cause. Yunho quite literally asked for this, he knows, so he doesn’t complain just yet.

“One,” Wooyoung begins, holding up a finger on the hand that’s clutching his own cup of beer. “You lost a bet, and you have to follow me around for a week, or else.”

That much is true, although Yunho still has certain questions about the validity of the results of their ill-advised arm wrestling contest one less-than-sober night the week before. He’s pretty sure San was an extremely biased judge.

Also, he never did find out what “or else” entailed. It could be preferable to this party.

“Two,” Wooyoung continues with another finger joining the first in the air, his grip on his cup loosening. Yunho eyes it warily.

“You need to get out more,” Wooyoung asserts, and once again, Yunho doesn’t really have a snappy comeback. He’s not _wrong._ For the last twelve weeks, give or take, Yunho has practically lived in the university’s dance studio, choreographing, rehearsing, and perfecting his final exam dance exhibition, and as of four twenty-two that very afternoon, he’d performed it in front of his professors. Perfectly, no less. He deserves to celebrate. He deserves a _break._ Whether or not he’d prefer said celebration to be anywhere else except this sweaty, hormonal fraternity house is perhaps not the point.

Yunho tries another tiny sip of his beer while he waits for Wooyoung to go on. It’s still terrible.

"And three." Wooyoung inhales, his eyes narrowing as he prepares to deliver the coup d’etat, or whatever he has in mind that he thinks is going to change Yunho’s perspective on this situation. It won’t work. Yunho is sure of that much.

“I heard Hongjoong is here.”

When the words leave Wooyoung’s mouth, Yunho’s got the rim of his cup between his lips again, preparing for another disgusting, miniscule swig, and then all of a sudden, his brain has processed the statement on some weird subconscious level and his mouth is trying to do some other awkward thing and it all gets confused and he ends up nearly biting a hole through the cheap plastic cup, yanking it away the minute he realizes what he’s done. No beer has actually made it down his throat, but Yunho starts choking anyway, on nothing. On air. On his _feelings,_ he guesses.

Instead of actually being helpful, Wooyoung just watches him, faint, fond amusement in his gaze. He puts a few inches of distance between Yunho and himself, as if to say, _I’m totally not here with this sad, unevolved creature._ Yunho glares at him between hacking coughs, turning away briefly to grab a bottle of water right out of some poor unsuspecting freshman’s hand and drain it all in one go, crumpling it in his large hand when he’s finished and thrusting it back towards the stunned kid. He has no idea where his cup of beer went. It doesn’t really matter, he thinks.

Wooyoung’s still watching him impassively when Yunho finally pulls himself together, swiping his arm across his mouth carelessly to rid his lips of excess water. He stares back at Wooyoung, trying to figure out what the hell to do about any of this. Thankfully, as always, his best friend saves him from his tendency to overthink everything until he destroys it, and speaks up again.

“I know you left things on a weird note before his American exchange program,” Wooyoung starts, and holy shit, that’s the understatement of the year. Yunho and Hongjoong had _definitely_ left things on a “weird note”, if by “weird note” Wooyoung means Yunho calling Hongjoong in the middle of the night after one too many tequila shots and confessing his undying love, and also maybe how if given the opportunity he would totally worship at the altar of Hongjoong’s dick, or whatever, and then after an absolutely interminable silence Hongjoong said they’d talk about it later, and then they _didn’t_.

Yunho must have made some sort of snort or scoff he wasn’t aware of after Wooyoung said that first thing, he guesses, because it’s Wooyoung’s turn to roll his eyes at his friend before he continues.

“ _I know you left things on a weird note,_ ” Wooyoung repeats, just for good measure, “But I think you need to talk about it, like, tonight. It’s been like four months since you even said a word to each other, and it’s freaking me out. It’s freaking _all of us_ out,” he emphasizes. Yunho can only assume he means their loosely connected group of friends, most of whom have spent the last four months listening to Yunho obsess over the entire scenario on an endless word vomit loop while also ignoring their good advice to maybe just, like, _text_ Hongjoong, or something.

Yunho frowns towards the floor. He can feel the tips of his ears starting to burn, like they always do when he’s embarrassed or anxious. “What if he doesn’t even want to speak to me ever again?” he murmurs, because he needs to get the thought out of his head and into the universe before it takes him over completely. He glances towards Wooyoung, and his friend is giving him a sympathetic smile, now. Wooyoung reaches out to pat Yunho’s shoulder as best he can, given their height difference, and gives him a quick one-armed hug. Just quick enough to pass at a staunchly bro-dude party like this, Yunho knows.

“He does,” Wooyoung says next, and Yunho blinks at the carpet, trying not to be hopeful. “He _does_ want to speak to you.”

Biting his lip, Yunho frowns harder. “How do you know.” It’s not a question, because he maybe doesn’t want the answer. He’s not sure yet what he wants, honestly.

Wooyoung doesn’t answer for a beat or two too long, so Yunho raises his eyes hesitantly. He’s greeted with a trademarked, patented, and incredibly up-to-no-good Jung Wooyoung smirk, and that’s when he Knows. Letting out a groan, Yunho wishes he still had the crumpled, empty water bottle in his hand. The crunch of the plastic in his fist would be so satisfying right now. “What did you _doooooo,_ ” he whines on the back of the groan, and Wooyoung nearly chortles, reaching out to spin Yunho around and aim him in the direction of the large, winding staircase that’s the centerpiece of the house, giving him a little shove while he’s at it.

“Why don’t you go to the third bedroom on the left and find out, big boy?” Wooyoung sounds so, _so_ gleeful. Yunho is very, very unprepared.

Before he’s really aware that it’s happening, Yunho’s big, dumb feet are moving him across the room. He’s moving through the throngs of people separating him from the stairs, ignoring the salt and sweat that are probably rubbing off on him as he cuts a path through their hormone-hot, beer-sticky bodies carelessly, and when he finally makes it through the crowd, the immediate rush of cool air he feels is upsettingly sobering (not that he was particularly un-sober before, but still). 

The foyer is completely empty, no one there to laugh and poke fun at Yunho as he tiptoes his large-ass self up the stairs like he’s trying to make it out of a minefield alive. Small mercies, he supposes. Miraculously, he gets up the staircase in one piece, staring down the hallway of mostly closed doors, each one a bedroom occupied by couples or thruples that he can hear making all manner of bedroom only noises as he passes by the first door on the left, then the second. When he gets to the third, it’s quiet inside. There might not even be anyone in there, Yunho’s panicked brain helpfully provides, and he tries to swallow that thought down as quickly as he can. Hongjoong will be there. Wooyoung wouldn’t do that to him. He knows that.

Carefully, he lines his feet up together, one next to the other as he faces the door nervously. He wants to wait a minute before he knocks, to try and pull some sense of normalcy out of himself, but he knows this conversation, whatever it’s going to be, isn’t going to be normal at all. It’s going to be strange and possibly upsetting and maybe, maybe in his wildest dreams incredibly hot, so in the end, Yunho gives up and knocks softly on the door, three little knocks in a row. The wait between when he lowers his hand and when he hears Hongjoong’s soft voice feels like an eternity.

“Yeah?”

Yunho’s mouth feels like a desert. “Hongjoong? It’s. It’s me. Yunho.” He hears how shaky his voice sounds, and hopes Hongjoong doesn’t notice.

“Come in,” Hongjoong calls, and although it’s even softer, Yunho hears it everywhere, feels the words zooming around his brain like a pinball.

When Yunho turns the knob with his sweaty _(ew)_ fist and shuffles a step or two into the room, leaning back on the door to push it shut, he has no idea what to expect. Hongjoong, he finds, is always unexpected.

The first coherent thought that hits him is that Hongjoong’s hair is red now.

Bright red, actually. He can see it all the way across the room, where Hongjoong is facing away from him, idly perusing the sparsely populated bookshelf of whichever fraternity brother’s room this is. His hair is bright red and then he turns around and Yunho wonders if maybe he isn’t dead, or something. Like, maybe he actually slipped and fell on his way up here and his body is still lying sprawled across the polished wood staircase, being stepped over by wayward partygoers looking for the bathroom, and the entity inside this room is just his disembodied soul.

He wonders that, because Hongjoong smiles at him like an angel, but as always, he looks like the goddamn devil. That bright red hair is swept off his forehead artfully, with purpose, and his outfit is so typically _Hongjoong_ in its aggressively DIY, safety-pinned, Sharpie-scribbled-ness that Yunho can barely breathe. He’s always felt so dorky next to Hongjoong. So ordinary. So not worth his time, even though Hongjoong has always given Yunho so much of his attention so freely, and never treated him like the towering nerd he absolutely knows he is. Hongjoong has always been so _cool_.

“Hi,” Hongjoong greets him after a moment, sharp little teeth digging into his bottom lip. It could be the lighting, or he could have had a few drinks, himself, but Yunho thinks Hongjoong might be blushing. _Strange._

Yunho clears his throat, trying to work through whatever lump of emotion and hormones has lodged itself there. It’s proving difficult. “Hi. Um. Wooyoung… Wooyoung told me you’d be here… I didn’t even know you were back...” He trails off after that, because Hongjoong is crossing the small room towards him, still smiling that gorgeous smile, and he keeps smiling it even when he stops right in front of Yunho.

“I missed you,” Hongjoong murmurs, and then he closes the distance between them and nestles his head under Yunho’s chin and _yep,_ Yunho is definitely dead. Definitely didn’t make it up the stairs. He’s died and gone to heaven, and this is probably his reward for all the suffering Hongjoong put him through in life. The suffering Hongjoong put his heart _and_ his cock through, without even trying.

Swallowing hard, Yunho manages to grunt out something he thinks is kind of close to _I missed you too,_ and then he takes advantage of his arms crossed around Hongjoong’s small body and gives himself a pinch on one forearm, _hard._

“Ow!” Yunho squeaks out, and Hongjoong steps away, looking worried.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is still soft, so soft. It’s only this soft around Yunho, he knows.

Yunho tries to school the pained expression off his face, rubbing at his arm irritatedly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… pinching myself real quick. To make sure.”

Hongjoong raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow in his direction. “To make sure?”

Dropping his arms back to his sides, Yunho heaves a defeated sigh. He knows he has to say it, and he knows it’s gonna sound idiotic. “To make sure this is actually happening.”

Hongjoong lets out a little snort before he can stop himself, his eyes twinkling as he covers his mouth, toning down the snort to sweet, shy giggles. He’s still doing that nail polish thing he does, Yunho notices, where he paints it just on one pinky. Yunho is so fucking gone for him.

And just like that, he remembers that Hongjoong _knows._ That now, they have to _talk_ about it.

_Fuck._

“Um,” Yunho tries to start, as Hongjoong takes his hand and leads him back towards the bed that’s pushed into one corner of the room, and he lowers himself to sit on the mattress slowly. “I think we should… we should probably…”

Hongjoong sighs, flopping down next to Yunho with much less grace in his movements. “I’m sorry, Yunho,” he says without preamble, and Yunho shuts his mouth quick. He waits.

“I’m sorry I just left without sorting things out,” Hongjoong continues. He’s not meeting Yunho’s eyes anymore, instead staring down at his lap, brow creased in what seems like frustration. Yunho wants very badly to reach over and smooth out that little space between his eyebrows with one finger. He doesn’t.

“I just…” Hongjoong tries next, “I just. I didn’t know if it was real. Because. Because you were drunk, and--”

“It was real,” Yunho says, too loud and too fast and too everything. Hongjoong stops talking, finally glancing up again. His eyes are so big and full of affection that Yunho wants to cry, because he knows, right then, that Hongjoong is _his_. Hongjoong is cooler than him, more talented than him, has more friends, but above all that, he _feels the same way Yunho does._ He _likes_ Yunho, at the very least. Yunho doesn’t really care about anything else, about all the other crap he said that night while he was under the influence of many things, but most of all his heart.

Well.

Maybe he does, actually.

He might care a little about Hongjoong’s mouth, if he’s being honest. Hongjoong’s talking again, saying things that Yunho would very much like to be paying attention to, things like, _I like you too,_ and _I want to date you, or whatever,_ but Yunho is just a bit distracted by that _mouth._ In general, it’s a perfect mouth, Yunho feels. Plush lips and straight, pearly-white teeth, with that tongue that’s always darting out to wet Hongjoong’s lips between sentences, but there’s something else there now, something new and shiny pulling Yunho’s focus. 

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s squinting into Hongjoong’s mouth, trying to figure out what it _is,_ until that mouth closes slowly, then melts into a smirk all at once. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” Hongjoong murmurs, and Yunho snaps his eyes back up where they belong, leaning away from Hongjoong guiltily because apparently he was leaning _into_ Hongjoong without even meaning to.

Yunho tries to think. It doesn’t work.

“Nothing,” he replies lamely, but Hongjoong knows better. Hongjoong always kinda _knows,_ Yunho feels.

The smirk deepens, and Hongjoong’s tongue slips out between his teeth, and then there’s this weird _clicking_ noise that Yunho can’t really comprehend until he trains his gaze on where he thinks it’s coming from, and then he sees it.

_Holy shit._

Yunho legitimately fucking _wheezes,_ then, he literally cannot help himself, and he’s clutching at the scratchy, cheap bedsheets underneath his fingers desperately when Hongjoong leans back into his space expectantly, tongue still a third of the way on display and a shiny silver barbell pierced right through it that definitely was not there before he left for four months to the United Disregard for Yunho’s Unused Dick States of America. 

Hongjoong hums under his breath, and he’s got this delicious, flirty, damn near predatory grin on his face as he clicks the barbell against his bottom teeth again, almost absentmindedly. “Do you like it?” he asks, and his voice is low and breathy and Yunho is really just having insane amounts of Difficulty, now.

Yunho sits on the bed next to Hongjoong, Hongjoong in his _outfit_ with his red hair and his pierced goddamn tongue. He sits there next to all of that, acutely aware that he himself is dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. He is… more than outmatched. He’s completely out of his _depth,_ drowning in a sea of thoughts that are all related to Hongjoong and Hongjoong’s tongue all over him, and he just…

“Um…” Yunho starts shakily. He can’t feel anything besides the throb in his stupid, plain blue jeans, suddenly. “Am… am I _allowed_ to?”

It’s a dumb question, probably, but Hongjoong humors him anyway, just like he always does. 

Yunho watches Hongjoong’s eyes flick down to the very obvious tent Yunho’s currently sporting in his pants, and then back up to meet Yunho gaze. “I think you are,” he breathes, and then he’s moving, crawling over and into Yunho’s lap without even asking for permission because he knows there’s no way he doesn’t have it, anyhow, and Hongjoong’s straddling Yunho’s thighs, cupping his face in both of his small hands when he goes on. “I think yours is the only opinion I really care about, anyway.”

Automatically, as if they’ve done this before outside of Yunho’s wet dreams, he raises his own hands, wrapping his palms around Hongjoong’s hips and squeezing. Just a little. Hongjoong’s still real, he finds. It’s getting simultaneously more improbable, and more heart-shakingly tied to reality with every beat of Hongjoong’s heart against Yunho’s chest as he comes in closer, and closer, and then, because Yunho’s brain and mouth are eternal, mortal enemies who can never just leave well enough alone, he stutters out, “Shouldn’t we _talk_ about this??” It comes out as a desperate, embarrassingly high-pitched whimper, and it makes Hongjoong chuckle.

“Yeah,” he agrees, running his tongue along the seam of Yunho’s lips, letting him feel the cold metal of the piercing against his skin. Letting him shiver under his touch. “Let’s talk about it.”

And so, they talk.

Yunho doesn’t think he’s had a better conversation in his entire life, truthfully. 

They talk in kisses, whole sentences breathed into each other’s mouths without a word being said. They talk in the way Hongjoong grinds himself down onto Yunho’s clothed cock shamelessly, and the way Yunho’s hands can’t seem to decide what to touch first, so he tries to touch all of Hongjoong, all at once, sweeping his palms over everything he can reach. Yunho prides himself on being a quick learner, and he learns that closing his teeth around Hongjoong’s piercing is a good idea, one that makes Hongjoong’s hips kick up against Yunho, _hard,_ makes him breathless and turns his cheeks pink with lust.

They talk like that, working things out, and just when Yunho thinks they’ve just about reached an agreement (at least he hopes they have, for the sake of his hair that Hongjoong’s yanked every which direction as hard as he could every time Yunho found another of his favorite spots to bite), Hongjoong slips out of his grasp, fisting his hands in Yunho’s shirt and trying his damndest to pull it over Yunho’s head. Yunho thinks about helping him at first, but then his sense of responsibility and like, chivalry, or whatever, kicks in, and he’s shaking his head, tugging the fabric back down over his stomach where it belongs.

“Why not?” Hongjoong asks, breathing hard as he lets go of Yunho temporarily. He’s halfway off the bed, and he sinks the rest of the way to the floor, pouting a little. Sometimes, Yunho hates his own decency and need for clarification. Basically all the time, really. 

Yunho tries to think, tries to figure out where to start. “Because,” he attempts, licking his lips and pretending to ignore the way Hongjoong’s eyes follow the motion hungrily. “Because we really _do_ have a lot to work out, hyung,” he says, trying to be firm. He stares at the ceiling, willing any hidden reserves of self-control he has left to bring themselves to the forefront, immediately. From the floor, he hears Hongjoong let out a groan of annoyance.

“Yunho.”

Yunho doesn’t think anyone’s ever said his name quite as right as Hongjoong does.

He glances down to find Hongjoong staring up at him, a myriad of emotions written on his face. Yunho can see lust, for sure. Sheer desire. Frustration, probably both sexual and _at_ Yunho himself for being such a noble guy. Yunho can relate. But…

He can also see other things, feelings that he didn’t think he would find in Hongjoong quite yet.

“Yeah?” Yunho croaks out nervously.

“I know what you think we need to talk about, why we need to wait,” Hongjoong says. “I get it.”

Yunho tries to breathe. “That’s… that’s good,” he manages.

“But,” Hongjoong goes on, and Yunho gives up trying to breathe for the moment.

“I didn’t just decide to be with you after I left, okay?” Hongjoong admits. “I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. I just… I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, you know?”

Belatedly, Yunho inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth. He feels faint. “Okay.”

Hongjoong sighs. “This isn’t me just trying to hit it once and then up and ghost you,” he says next.

Yunho is going to die. “Okay.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for _years_. I’ve wanted to _date_ you for years. I know you, and you know me. We aren’t starting from square one,” Hongjoong continues, and fuck if it doesn’t sound perfectly reasonable to Yunho, suddenly.

“I’ve also wanted to suck you off for years,” are the next words out of Hongjoong’s mouth, and Yunho’s cock is overjoyed to hear them, “So I swear to god, Jeong Yunho, if you don’t let me blow you in the next ten seconds, _I’m going to lose my fucking mind_ ,” he finishes. Yunho didn’t even notice that Hongjoong had been working the zipper of his jeans down while he talked. _Talent._

Hongjoong pulls Yunho out of his boxers with something like horny defiance, and they both watch as his achingly hard length bounces against Yunho’s belly before settling straight against it. Hongjoong takes a deep breath, wrapping one hand around it. Spots start to form at the edges of Yunho’s vision. 

“Okay?” Hongjoong asks.

Yunho leans back, bracing himself up with his palms flat on the mattress. “Okay,” he says.

That whole leaning back thing? It doesn’t last long, once Hongjoong gets to work.

In seconds, Yunho’s fingers are tangled in Hongjoong’s hair, pulling at handfuls and spreading his palms across the crown of Hongjoong’s head, just to have something to anchor him to reality. Hongjoong doesn’t waste any more time than they’ve already lost not doing this, licking a wide stripe up the underside of Yunho’s cock, dragging the top of his piercing up the sensitive flesh until Yunho is legitimately worried that he might cum before he gets to feel Hongjoong’s whole mouth around him.

He doesn’t, thankfully. He manages to hold it together when Hongjoong takes him halfway down his throat all at once, pressing his lips together and bobbing his head, making these little satisfied noises like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing. Yunho kind of hopes maybe that’s true. He manages to hold it together when Hongjoong pulls off and spits a delicate rope of saliva across Yunho’s swollen cockhead and then goes back down with twice as much enthusiasm. Hell, Yunho even manages to contain himself when he sees Hongjoong’s hand sneak down the front of his own pants and palm at his neglected dick, although that sight does cause him to grab Hongjoong by the back of his head and fuck his face down onto his cock without much of a warning, not stopping until he sees tears trickling down Hongjoong’s cheeks from the exertion.

Yunho gives Hongjoong a break and apologizes profusely, kissing away his tears and bringing him water and swatting Hongjoong’s hands away as they keep trying to jerk him off even while he’s recovering. Finally, Hongjoong catches Yunho off guard and manages to crawl back between his legs, distracting him with a hard, deep drag of his fingernails down Yunho’s chest while he swallows his length one more time. At some point, Hongjoong’s tight pants disappeared. Yunho’s not sure to where. He’s not sure he cares. 

When Yunho gets so close to his climax that his whole body feels on fire and tingling, he reaches down and pulls Hongjoong into his lap again with one strong arm around his waist, and he’s just lucid enough to notice the way Hongjoong gasps at the ease of the gesture before Yunho wraps his big hand around both of them and begins to stroke in earnest. 

Hongjoong comes first, sobbing brokenly into a messy kiss, and Yunho follows right on his heels, spilling over his hand with a near-growl, and then they just lean against each other, gasping for air with Hongjoong still in Yunho’s lap and Yunho’s grip loosening just enough around their softening cocks to be comfortable.

It takes a while, and Yunho thinks maybe Hongjoong’s drifted off right there in his arms, but then he _feels_ more than _hears_ Hongjoong whisper something against his chest. It vibrates straight through to his heart, and Yunho feels warm and fuzzy when he moves the smallest bit so Hongjoong can sit up, eyes still bleary and faraway. “What did you say?” Yunho murmurs, brushing Hongjoong’s flame-red hair out of his eyes gently.

Hongjoong smiles a little, palms flat on Yunho’s chest to steady himself as they gaze at each other.

“I said, ‘Does that answer your questions?’” 


End file.
